The Return of Sherlock Holmes
by ReaderMagnifique
Summary: Title may change. Three years after the Reichenbach fall, Sherlock returns; however, this time, he brings with him a couple of surprises. John will be amazed, Mycroft will be annoyed, and Lestrade won't know what to do.
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay, so I was going to wait a lot longer to put this up, but my hand has been forced by one, **_**Rosalie Storm**_**. So this first chapter is dedicated to her. Also, the next series is out in just over a month (EEEP! SO EXCITED!) and this needs at least starting before then. I am writing chapter four at the moment, so there will hopefully be very little waiting time between chapter uploads. This will be an extremely controversial story, as you will see further on. So, now that's out of the way, on with the story!**_

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_Chapter One: The return_

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Doctor John Watson sat, as he had sat for the past three years, in an armchair in a small house in Cambridge, reading the morning news. He always looked at the detective reports; a habit he couldn't quite rid himself of, even after all this time. He would try to work out the cases as he once had on foot with his old friend. This time, it was the Honourable Ronald Adair, murdered under the most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. He sighed, and quietly closed the printed sheets, laying them down on the small table next to him. The case had baffled the police, and himself; an event which wasn't surprising. He grimaced, and held his bad leg – it was playing up again – and rose slowly. He limped to the window and opened the curtains, letting in the early morning light. He had long since moved away from Baker Street; he had grown to hate the memories of a tall, skinny man with dark, curly hair. After gazing down onto the street, which was slowly starting to fill, he once again retreated steadily to his chair.

Mrs Hudson was still the landlady of 221B Baker Street, although she had considered selling. However, she remembered all too well a young man announcing that he did not desire her to leave it; 'England would fall' were the words he chose to use. On this particular morning, her hip wasn't hurting her quite as much as usual, and she didn't feel quite so tired. As she bustled about her little kitchen, making herself a herbal tea, she allowed herself to remember, just for a moment, a gangly young man who shot holes in her walls in an attempt to cure his boredom. Then she pushed her memories back into her mind, and carried on with her day.

Mollie Hooper prepared for another day in St Bart's. She too missed the young detective who would dance swiftly through the morgue, carelessly toss a microscope around, mangle a few corpses, and then saunter off again to complete a couple of cases. She of course knew a secret that only three people in the world knew, and this was what kept her going. That, and her strong relationship with another; a man who she cared about even more so than Sherlock, and for once he loved her back.

Mycroft Holmes sat in his office, contemplating another pile of paperwork; something about Boris upsetting yet another foreign ambassador. 'Andrea' stood in the doorway; awaiting orders as she did every morning. This man knew the country's greatest secrets, and also a fair few that belonged to foreign powers also. But one of the greatest belonged to three people in the entire world. His younger brother had always been a great disappointment to him, and he had often wondered why his mother hadn't sold him for medical experiments. It was a simple procedure, not particularly expensive, and brought in a good profit. If it wasn't for sentiment and emotions, he would have seen the back of his sibling long ago. He smirked, and turned back to the file before him.

The one person having a fairly peculiar morning was Detective Inspector Lestrade. The man sat opposite him was a tufty, white haired old man, with a wizened face poking out from the mane atop his little head; He carried at least a dozen books under his right arm. He had insisted on seeing Lestrade, and refused to leave, ignoring both Donovan and Anderson, and hobbling through to the poor man's office. Now here he sat across the desk from him, forcing a beaming, wizened smile upon the extremely confused bloke, wondering what had he done to deserve it this time.

"You're surprised to see me, sir," Said the little man in a strange, croaking voice. The Detective Inspector acknowledged that he was. "I am here on business you see. I must speak with certain people." Lestrade nodded as politely as he was able. "You, of course are one of them." At this, Lestrade became – if it were possible – even more baffled than previously, and before he could stop himself exclaimed.

"What the hell do you want with me? I've never met you in my life!"

"Ah. That, my good Detective Inspector, you shall see."

One and a half hours later, a group of people sat in Lestrade's office, waiting to hear what on earth was going on. They were, of course, John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Mollie Hooper, and Detective Inspector Lestrade. The little old man rose slowly from his seat, looked at each individual face, and then, with an air of great importance said:

"Well Sirs, Madams, if it isn't too great a liberty, have any of you ever considered expanding your libraries?" The group stared at him, dumbstruck. He continued. "I have here _British birds_, and _Catullus, _and _The holy war_ – a bargain every-"

"What the bloody hell are you playing at?" Interrupted a seriously angered Lestrade.

"Why Sir! With five volumes you could just fill that gap on the second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not Sir?" The other four people turned to look at the small cabinet residing in the corner of the office. When they turned around again, instead of seeing the idiotic, doddery little fellow they had seen not moments before, they saw Sherlock Holmes standing before them, holding a tufty grey wig and a couple of pieces of plastic stage makeup that had distorted his face so cunningly. The books were still firmly clamped under his right arm.

It is easily said that they all had different reactions to the sight before their eyes. In half a second, Sherlock had managed to throw Mrs Hudson into violent hysterics, produce a beaming smile from Mollie Hooper, made Detective Inspector Lestrade stand there with widened eyes and a hanging, open mouth, and Doctor John Watson had risen slowly from his seat in disbelief, and promptly fainted to the ground.

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_**Okay, so I hope you have enjoyed the first chapter; the next one shall be much more controversial, this was merely showing his return, based on the original book by Arthur Conan Doyle. It shall get much more exciting as it progresses. I know many people say that Mycroft knows nothing about Sherlock's fake death, and I really like some of the stories that have cropped up because of it, but the book said he included Mycroft in his secret, and I really want to stick to the book as much as possible in this first part, because I am going to go in a completely different direction now and bring in my own character and an extremely debateable story line.**_

_**Keep reading,**_

_**ReaderMagnifique.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**So, this is where you will start to decide on liking or hating this story. Chapter 2 ready to run. Let's go!**_

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_Chapter Two: The explanation_

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John Watson did not remember fainting in Lestrade's office. What he did know is that one second he was staring in amazement at Sherlock Holmes standing just a few feet away from himself, and then a grey mist had swirled before his eyes, and when it cleared, he found his collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of alcohol upon his lips. Sherlock was bending over his chair with a small metal hip flask in hand.

"For God's sake Sherlock, you can't give him brandy!" He recognised Lestrade's voice immediately.

"Well it worked, didn't it? See, he's opening his eyes." Even after three years, John realised whose voice that was.

"Sherlock!" He cried, grabbing the taller man's upper arm. "Is it really you? You're really alive?" He paused, staring at Sherlock's face, then; "Oh God. I'm bloody hallucinating." He tried to scramble to his feet, but Sherlock held him back.

"John, calm down! You're not hallucinating!"

"Yes I am, you're dead. You died three years ago. You _jumped off the roof of Saint Bart's" _He continued struggling against Sherlock's grip.

"I faked my death, John!" Suddenly, John stopped attempting to free himself. He looked up at Sherlock, eyes wide with astonishment, then;

"What in God's name possessed you to do that?" Sherlock sighed in annoyance.

"Because of a certain three gunmen armed and ready to fire at you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade." There was a long silence.

"So, you're telling me that if you hadn't jumped off a building, we would have been killed?" Interjected Lestrade. There was a pause.

"Yes." Mrs Hudson, whose ferocious tears had only just abated, burst out crying once again, and threw herself at Sherlock, holding him in a tight hug.

"You stupid boy! We're not worth it!"

"Erm… Actually… I might be?" Said Lestrade, ever-so-slightly irritated. In one morning, his world had been turned upside down. A man he once assumed was dead was now quite the opposite, an elderly woman had said that he wasn't worth the clothes he stood in, and there was a grey wig and pieces of plastic stage make-up littering his new desk. Either he was having a nervous breakdown due to the new case he was working on, or he was having the worse day imaginable. At least he was slightly reassured by Sherlock's next comment.

"Don't be ridiculous Mrs Hudson. Lestrade is quite right. You are."

Suddenly, a phone rang out of Sherlock's pocket. The corner of his lip twitched slightly, and he slid the Blackberry out of his coat, and held it to his ear.

"Hello, Dear." He said, his ice blue eyes twinkling with laughter, "…Yes… Yes… Well I'm sorry, Dear, but it was necessary… Why? Why on earth do you think? They need to get over each shock one at a time…" His conversation carried on for a while in this fashion, and in the meantime, John was able to get a proper look at the world's only ex consulting detective. His hair was still the same unruly, jet black curls, his eyes the same crystal blue, but there seemed something different about him now. Something in the way he held himself. He seemed more relaxed, and less wired in his posture, as if all the worries in his whole life had melted away in that one horrific step from the top of the building three years ago.

And then, in a flash, John noticed something new. Sherlock was holding the phone to his right ear, his left side facing the rest of the group; in this position, John could see an astonishing thing. There was a thin, gold ring on the third finger of his left hand. He remembered an old rhyme from somewhere.

_Third finger, left hand…_

"Alright… Alright… You can come up now… Yes… Yes I do believe they would like to be reacquainted with you… You're halfway there… of course you are…"

… _That's where you place the Wedding band!_

Sherlock ended the call, and dropped the phone into his pocket. He then looked around the room with an amused smile playing about his lips.

"Sherlock… you're finger… it's…"

"It's what John? Replied Sherlock, his eyes opened with wide eyed innocence. He looked at all his fingers frantically, almost comically. "John, what is the matter with my finger? Which finger?" The rest of the room was now completely befuddled, staring at Sherlock's hands, attempting to understand what had John so worried.

"Sherlock… your third finger… on your left hand… you have… your wearing…"

"Oh! I see what you're getting at!" exclaimed Sherlock. He was no longer able to contain his mirth, and that boyish grin had sprung to his lips. One by one, the rest of the room understood what the Doctor had been trying to say, and they now gawped, open-mouthed, at the small, gold band on his finger.

"You're talking about my Wedding ring!" cried the dark haired man.

At which point, the door to Lestrade's office swung open, and in strode a woman, carrying a small toddler in her arms. A woman with dark hair, and a beautiful face.

A woman who was also supposed to be dead.

John Watson gaped, as the ex-dominatrix sauntered into the room and came to a standstill next to Sherlock.

"May I have the pleasure of introducing my wife, Irene Holmes." Said Sherlock, beaming triumphantly at the small group of people. There was complete silence for a moment. Then, John finally focused on the small girl in Irene's arms. She was blond, with soft, curling ringlets falling to her petit waist. She suddenly turned her head to look at him.

And Doctor John Watson looked into eyes of the same icicle blue as that of his old friend.

"Sherlock." He mumbled, too shocked to do anything more.

"Yes, John?" Grinned the tall man lounging on Lestrade's desk.

"Why does the little girl have your exact eye colour?"

"That, John, is my other little surprise. I must also introduce to you all, my daughter. Her name is Sarah Elizabeth Holmes, or Sally, as my wife likes to call her."

Mrs Hudson dropped into the arms of Lestrade in a dead faint. Lestrade, for his part, didn't know whether to be happy for Sherlock, or miserable for his own situation.

After endeavouring to arouse her, Mrs. Hudson eventually awoke, and Lestrade called for someone to assist her out of the office. Sally Donovan, her curiosity aroused, poked her head around the office door, and screamed. Anderson came running, and came to a standstill just a little way behind her, mouth hanging open.

"Yes Donovan, Anderson. You perceive that a man you once thought dead is quite the opposite. Your reactions are normal, if somewhat annoying. Your affair seems to have lasted – oh, no. Anderson's divorced, and you're living together now, how nice. Toddle off back to your one bedroomed flat now; you've served your purpose." At which point, he slammed the door in their faces. He turned on one heel back to the room, then thought better of it, and twisted back to the door, swinging it open. Donovan and Anderson were stood exactly as they had been before. "By the way, Sally, you may want to take a test when you go home." He went to fling shut the door once again, but Donovan seemed to have recovered, and slammed her hand against the wood. She stormed into the room, and clasped handcuffs around the taller man's thin wrists. Sherlock, for his part, went along with it.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are under arrest for many crimes including murder, forgery, blackmail, and other countless offences –"

"- And insulting police officers!" Interjected Anderson

"Yes, and that. You have the right to remain silent; however anything you say may be taken and used against you."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to carry on with this Sergeant Donovan." Said a smooth voice from the doorway. Everyone stopped and turned to stare at Mycroft Holmes, who stood regally, gazing in on the scene ahead of him as if glancing at a painting in an art gallery. "I believe you may be mistaken in your opinion of my younger sibling. Allow me to inform you that a damn nuisance he maybe, a fraud he is not. Please release him, and go about your business."

"And what right do you have to tell me I can't arrest him?"

"May I interject?" Irene had Sally on her knee, and was watching with great amusement. "My husband, you may like to know, is not a fraud, nor has he ever been. He is a genius, and I find it highly entertaining that you believe the words of a known villain to that of the British Government and his brother."

"Wait… Did you just say _husband_?" exclaimed Anderson.

"Sally, just take the cuffs and leave. You too Anderson." Snapped Lestrade. The two officers stared in amazement, before being shunted out of the room by Mycroft.

"I'm sorry." Murmured Molly. "I'm going to go back to work now. I've had more than enough shocks for one day." She rose to her feet slowly, and John went to open the door for her. Irene smiled an arched smile.

"Well, you two have got pretty friendly while we have been away." She said. John gave her a look of great distain.

"Molly was very good to me when you left, Sherlock, and we have come to realise that I am better suited to her than you." He said simply. He turned to his long term girlfriend and smiled; a smile he saved just for her. She smiled a coy smile back at him, and left quietly.

"How did you know I was back Mycroft?" inquired Sherlock, rubbing his wrists slightly.

"Sherlock, you cannot have been that withdrawn from the world that you have forgotten the invention of CCTV?"

"Not at all Mycroft." The elder Holmes bowed his head slightly, and left, Lestrade following him out.

"So how are you alive then?" sighed John, addressing Irene.

"I went over to Karachi, and stopped the execution in its tracks. A fairly simple procedure, if I recall." Replied Sherlock, airily. There were now only four people in the room. The three Holmes' and John. John now had a closer look at Sally. She was a beautiful child, her ice blue eyes looking up at him with almost intellectual scrutiny. She was dressed in a powder blue dress, with little matching pumps and white tights.

"Well, it's safe to say that she is definitely your daughter Sherlock. One question. Why is she blond? You both have dark hair."

"It's called a genetic mutation. She did have hair the exact same colour as Sherlock when she was born."

"How old is she?"

"Almost 18 months old. Quite advanced for her age." Sherlock joined the conversation at last. John scoffed.

"It would be hard for her not to be, considering her parents. Can she talk yet?" Sherlock just looked at her inquiringly.

"Fairly well." She replied. John jumped.

"That… That… Well, that… Is very… Very advanced."

"She hasn't completely mastered French yet, but she's getting there." Responded Sherlock, with that childish grin on his face.

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_**Okay. The next chapter will be in 13½ years' time. Molly and John are together in this, because Molly is derived from th**__**e name Mary, the name of John's wife in the book. She has a cat called Toby, the name of Mary's dog. Also, because I want them to get together. I know Sherlock would never marry, or have a child, but I wanted him to do so. Nobody had attempted the idea yet, I thought I'd give it a go. Genetic mutation is a real thing, I learned about it in Biology (Blodge!). Sally is blond, because I love blond hair (wish mine was!) and very few heroines are blond. All my basic facts are completely correct – they better be! I have spent hours of research on this, wanting to get it right! How sad am I?**_

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_**Sally is not named after Donovan, but Irene's mother. I looked for ages for a suitable name. She was originally Sally, until I remembered Donovan, then I looked at the family tree of Arthur Conan Doyle for inspiration. However, as much as I liked many of the names, they didn't fit what I had in mind. After looking also at Irish names (Sherlock is apparently Irish) I eventually decided to keep Sally and use Irene's mother as explanation. In my mind, Sherlock and Irene argued over her name for some time before Sherlock caved. Sally was at one point Annette, as that was the name of Conan Doyle's daughter with his favourite wife. Elizabeth is the middle name of Arthur Conan Doyle's favourite wife, Jean, and is also the middle name of my favourite cousin. I decided also that it would be Sherlock's mother, and that would be his condition on letting Irene win.**_

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_**Keep reading,**_

_**ReaderMagnifique.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Third chapter up! Just saying now, Sally is in Year 11 at King Solomon's Academy – an actual secondary school and six form in London. It is within walking distance of Baker Street, and most of the details are correct, aside from parts of the uniform that I couldn't stand. I have tried to keep it as similar as possible, and as a disclaimer, I do not own it and I have tried to keep it out of the equation as much as I could.**_

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Chapter Three: Thirteen and a half years later

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Sally Elizabeth Holmes was, quite frankly, bored out of her tree. She was sat in an extremely pointless French GCSE class. The work, for her, was completely fruitless; not only was she fluent in French, but also German, Italian, Japanese and Mandarin Chinese. She was currently learning Spanish. She turned her head to the side, carelessly flicking one soft, blonde ringlet off her cheek – the colour of which was like peaches and cream – and glanced across the room. She could see her friend Milly Lloyd at the side of the class, her nose wrinkled in confusion. Sally's ice blue eyes were suddenly shielded from view, as she blinked long dark lashes over them. With long, thin, tapered fingers, she wrote a small note and expertly threw it, giving away all the answers to the work.

Ruby Minor glared with deep brown – almost black – eyes at Sally, who sat directly in front of her. She didn't like the girl – in fact, they despised each other. However much Sally disliked her lessons, she at least had respect for her teachers; something Ruby didn't have an ounce of. She constantly voiced her arrogant remarks, much to the disgust of many a teacher and various classmates.

The bell went for break. Ruby smirked, knowing that within ten minutes she would be over the back fence and sneaking into the centre of town. She flipped a strand of platinum blond hair out of her eyes to join the sheet that sat around her shoulders, grabbed her belongings from the desk in front of her and rammed them into her bag. She slunk out of the room, barging past little Milly Lloyd and shoving her to the opposite wall.

Sally's eyes narrowed. Milly was a petit brunette with big, chocolate brown eyes covered by even larger, rounded glasses. A curtain of chestnut waves swirled round her heart shaped face as she was slammed into the wall, sinking slowly to the ground.

The timid young girl looked up to see a hand stretched down to her. Melted chocolate met glittering crystal. Milly returned Sally's reassuring grin with a shy smile, and placed a small, delicate hand in hers. The taller girl swiftly pulled her to her feet and then, with a devilish smirk that was uncannily like her father's, she casually said;

"Well, I do believe that Ruby is looking for yet another Mexican standoff." Milly's smile dropped into a worried frown.

"Oh no, Sally. Not again!" She pleaded. Sally gave her a look of mock innocence. They started walking down the corridors together.

"My dear Milly, you seem to imply that I am constantly diving for her throat."

"But you do constantly embarrass her."

"Nonsense. She embarrasses herself on a daily basis. I merely give her opportunity." Milly gave her a look of extreme disapproval, one that she seemed to don on a regular basis with the blond girl.

"Sally. Every time Ruby Minor says something or does something you don't like, you confront her before the whole school out on the yard. She gets angry, you stay unnaturally calm, and it always ends in you outsmarting her in every way possible, and her storming off into town."

"She would storm off into town without my help. She does so constantly." At which point Sally sped up, keen to catch Ruby before she climbed the fence. Milly sighed, straightened her blue tie, her curved glasses and her navy blazer, and followed.

"OY! MINOR!" Yelled Sally. The head girl then strolled gracefully down towards the juvenile delinquent, who stood with a scowl on her face. Students gathered around as Sally closed in; they were well accustomed to this particular form of entertainment, and had stopped taking bets on who would win – the answer was obvious.

"What now, Holmes?" Growled Ruby. The two beauties stood opposite each other, but whereas Sally's looks were naturally exquisite, Ruby had completely artificial looks.

"Well now, here's the thing. You see, something just happened to catch my eye as I was on the way out of French. Can you possibly guess what it was?" Ruby glared daggers at Milly, who turned her head away quickly to avoid eye contact.

"You saw that, huh?" Grunted Ruby. Sally nodded slowly, mocking her. "Look, I didn't mean to do it, your stupid mate was just in the way.

"On the contrary, she was ahead of you. You pushed past. Learn to be more patient."

"Shut your mouth, you snobby cow!"

"Someone is touchy today."

"There's a bloody good reason for it, too!"

"Your use of the English language, Ruby, is shockingly dull."

"Oh, bloody hell!"

"Don't bore me, Ruby. You wouldn't like me when I'm bored."

"I don't like you most of the time."

"Mind over matter, my dear." Ruby paused.

"What are you on about now?"

"I don't mind, and you don't matter." Milly groaned, as the rest of the student body erupted in delighted laughter. Ruby glowered, gazing around herself with anger and embarrassment clear on her face. She looked back at Sally, who seemed almost uninterested with the whole spectacle, and spun, on her heel, storming away to the back of the school. Slowly, the other students began to disperse.

"I take it Ruby Minor and yourself are finishing early for the day." Called out another voice. Sally and Milly turned to face the girl approaching them at a leisurely pace. Titian red curls clustered wildly round a little face with a small, pointed chin. Her midnight blue eyes were expensive velvet, and filled with mirth. She walked with confidence towards the disbanding scene, gently brushing her hair off her alabaster skin. She grinned, white teeth looking almost shark-like under her wicked smile. Sally smirked back.

"Leonie! You missed out on all the fun." Drawled Sally lazily.

"Story of my life." Sighed Leonie in mock despair. She was another of Sally's best friends, but one was still missing.

"Have you ever noticed how very red Ruby's person can become when spending some time with our dearest head girl?" Said a voice to Sally's left. She turned her head to the side to see the last in their band of four. Patrick had been Sally's friend for years. Luxurious brown curls settled around his ears, framing a cherubic and almost innocent face. His eyes were a dazzling emerald green, and seemed to overflow with laughter.

"Of course dear, I notice everything."

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When Sally got through the door of 221B Baker Street, she bounded up the stairs, making for her bedroom. A voice called out to her, just as she reached the door.

"How was your day" Called Sherlock, already having known it was his daughter as soon as her hand touched the handle on the front door. Sally turned slightly to glance at her father looking at her quizzically from his favourite armchair; he already knew exactly what had happened, having now deduced everything.

"Uneventful" She replied evenly.

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_**Okay, so I hope you like this chapter, I actually used a lot of this for my English essay and got and A*, only dropping two marks! I had a lot of fun writing about Sally and her friends. It started as just Millie, then I wanted a character similar to one in my favourite book, which hauled in Leonie, and then I wanted a boy as well; and along came Patrick.**_

_**Keep reading,**_

_**ReaderMagnifique.**_


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